It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you in my respect are all the world: Then how can it be said I am alone, When all the world is here to look on me?

When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.

When words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain.

O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.

The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.

Keep time! How sour sweet music is when time is broke and no proportion kept! So is it in the music of men's lives. I wasted time and now doth time waste me.

Thou art a very ragged Wart.